Socks
by ZombieCatTookMyPudding
Summary: After a new ship crashes on the Castaways' remote planet, it leaves Grood to develop an unhealthy obsession with the ship's most valuable good...socks? Nevertheless, it's up to General Zartok and Saint Walker to put an end to this unusual madness before he goes too far.
1. Chapter 1

"How the Hell do you even..." a turquoise cyclops fidgeted with the small device in his hand. Feeling anger rise again within him, if his regular tech expert didn't make herself present soon, he was damn near ready to break it again.

 _SNAP!_

The only thing that had caught his attention was his mute second-in-command, a large, animal-like blue and white creature, purposely snapping a twig. Since his vocal cords were badly damaged in a fight a number of months ago, it was the best he could do.

"Grood, where is Drusa?" the cyclops growled.

Grood pointed in the direction of the ship graveyard.

"What?! But she was just there _two weeks ago!"_

Shaking his head, he held up three of his clawed fingers.

"No, I clearly remember it was two."

Grood grabbed a small journal off of the log where she usually sat, and handed it to him. It was originally a captain's log, stolen off of one of the ships, but her patterns had become so predictable, it was now it was used to keep track of how many days it was until her next leave. Sure enough, the tally-marks equaled twenty-one, just in time for her regular breaks.

Drusa was very talented with her hands, able to fix just about anything as far as anyone was concerned, no matter how broken it was. Unfortunately, nature provided some unfair consequences to being a healthy young mammalian female. Since they had little options to deal with her cycles in a sanitary matter, the best they could do for her was give her a three-to-seven day vacation to rest in one of the abandoned spaceships in the Ship Graveyard until it ended.

"...Fine. It appears we will have to take matters into our own hands. Or...paws. You know, whatever those things are."

* * *

The funny thing about ships landing on this remote planet, they all seemed to crash in just the same place: the Ship Graveyard, as the stranded locals called it. A barren, foggy place that stretched on for miles.

While his ally had gone off in search of any new tools, or perhaps an instruction manual from the ship they found it on, a sweet smell had distracted Grood. and it wasn't the melon he was holding, (as he had to feed Drusa soon, currently unable to forage for her own food.) It was coming from somewhere in the distance. Galloping off towards the scent, he found a ship he hadn't noticed before. Perhaps it crashed recently. Setting the melon down, he managed to squeeze through the narrow door, and explore a bit.

This ship had been down for at least a few days. The bodies were still relatively fresh: a humanoid species, though from what planet(s) they were from he was unsure. But through the smell of rotting flesh, the alluring scent remained. Following it to a large compartment at the back of the ship, his pink eyes widened at the sight as he found the source.

* * *

"Grood! Where did you go?" The former Cardonian general called out. He had gotten what he came there for.

With a big grin on his face, Grood waddled over to him, holding several white bundles in his arms balancing a melon on top.

"What the...?" Zartok squinted his one eye. "Are those... _socks?"_

Exhaling happily, the creature buried his face in the stack he had.

"What do you need _those_ for?!"

Suddenly, he had no idea what came over him, but he dropped the clean, white socks, and proceeded to throw one at his commander.

"What the?" Again, another bundle. "Why are you-?!" Before Zartok could attack out of anger, he found himself overwhelmed by just how many pairs of socks were being pitched at him, forcing him to retreat back to their campsite.

Picking up everything he dropped, including the bundles he threw again he stuck his face in them. Chances are that these had been washed recently, but who knew the things humanoids put on their feet could smell so good? Sighing in bliss, he waddled off towards Drusa's ship.


	2. Chapter 2

Careful not to wake the sleeping mechanic, Grood kept his footsteps light (or, as light as you can when you're Grood,) as he made his way to the back of the ship where she was staying.

Setting the melon down on a small, broken desk next to her, an abandoned set of drawers had caught his eye. Of course, being unable to resist going through it, sure enough, the first thing he saw was, you guessed it, more socks, and plenty enough to fill the whole compartment. These ones were black, and some had green toe and heel markings, but they were still very much like the ones he collected earlier. Except, to his distaste, he noticed _one_ little detail that they lacked: they, for some reason, didn't contain the same sweet smell the ones he collected earlier did. Looking through the others didn't help much. All they contained were old uniforms, and other miscellaneous humanoid items that he couldn't recognize.

"Grood? What're you doing...?" Drusa mumbled sleepily, her dark, violet-gray eyes half-open. Placing a clawed finger to her mouth cueing her to be quiet, he pulled the blanket she had further up her shoulders, letting her drift off back to sleep.

Deciding that this ship didn't have what he was looking for, he decided he may as well leave. But...that wasn't to say that _others_ might not have special socks he could find to add to his collection.

* * *

Several hours had passed. The sun was beginning to go down, and he had exhausted his search through every ship he could fit inside of. It really did stump him. Some of the ships had socks, but the socks he had found earlier...they were just so soft! So _special!_

A burning ache tingled through his body. He couldn't even place a reason why in his mind: all he knew is that he needed to return to the socks, as soon as possible! Hurrying through the trees, he began to make his way back to the campsite.

He was in such a rush, he hadn't noticed the Astonian sitting in one of the branches, watching him run. While they didn't interact as much as they used to, he knew that normally, the creature was as calm as he was. He hadn't seen him this panicked since that battle that split the criminal group right in half. Sure, he knew better than to involve himself in the schemes of lowlifes, but something seemed to strike him as odd. And not in a good way.

"What are you up to, old friend?" he asked, not really intending for him to hear it. Leaping down from the tree, he made his way through the growing shadows, following him close behind.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**

 **So I finally decide to come back to this. It's one of many fanfics I wrote on a whim, but I do know where I'm going, so bear with me.**

* * *

Whatever this thing was, fixing it couldn't be so hard...Zartok had watched enough nerds put broken things back together to know that all he had to do was what they would do.

 _Thud._

Squinting at the tiny loose screw, the cyclops carefully tried to return it to its place with the screwdriver.

 _Thud._

 _Thud._

Ignoring the soft noise, he turned it over in his hands, he decided to look for any wires that seemed out of place.

 _Thud._

There was none, as far as he could tell.

 _Thud._

 _Thud._

The next logical thing to do would be if there were any power sources, such as drained or improperly secured batteries the little thing might have been powered by.

 _Thud._

 _Thud._

 _Thud._

"WOULD YOU _STOP_ THAT?!" he snapped at the animalistic alien who happened to catch a falling sock he repeatedly threw up into the air. "I haven't the slightest idea why you're so interested feet garments all of a sudden, but if you're going to play with them, play with them elsewhere."

Shrugging, he swooped up the small bundles and walked further into the forest, away from the campsite.

* * *

Letting out short, quick breaths that would have been laughter had he still had his voice, he threw some of the socks up into the air, not quite paying mind to the ones that fell from his arms.

 _Swish!_

Eyes widened, he noticed one of the bushes move. Grood's keen sense of smell told him he was being followed...and just who was following him. Teeth baring, he grabbed a bundle, preparing to attack.

"Easy now, no need for hostilities..." the tall figure stepped out from behind the trees, hands up in front of him to show he wasn't carrying any weapons or otherwise posing a threat. "There is no need for alarm, but I've been watching you, and I've noticed you're not yourself. What's wrong?"

Despite that the only light they had was from the stars, Saint Walker had no trouble dodging the first bundle of socks.

"I've always known you were an impulsive soul, but this is a bit much, even for you," Saint commented, shaking his head. Stepping out of the way of another, he added "surely there's a reason you've become infatuated with these all of a sudden." Moving his head to avoid another, he continued "that would be fine if I didn't think there was something incredibly odd, and perhaps dangerous about these..."

But Grood didn't listen, he just decided to deal with him the same way he dealt with Zartok earlier: by overwhelming his opponent with socks. Of course, being the perfectly dodging badass Saint was, not one of the wrapped up pairs hit him, but he knew there was no reasoning with his opponent. Sighing, he calmly walked away further into the darkness, and away from the aggressive beast.

Grood let out a satisfied snort. Good, he was gone. Eyes wider than usual, he scanned the ground for any socks that he had dropped, gathering whatever he could into his arms. He had lost a few pairs: and he wasn't sure he would get them back until the morning. Shivering, he gathered up the soft balls of fabric, and used them as a pillow before he drifted off to sleep, his dreams soon to be filled with socks: all the socks he could ever want, imagine, and even more.

* * *

Saint hardly ever fancied a chat with the other criminals that lived here with him unless absolutely necessary, but, unfortunately, he deemed this one of those times. He knew enough Cardonian in order to _talk to_ the leader of the group...but whether or not he was willing to _communicate_ would be another story altogether.

It didn't take him too long to find the campsite: it was the only fire burning here. The cyclops' cheeks were now a dark blue, clearly frustrated he couldn't figure out how to get the small device in his hand to work. In order not to startle the general (as he unintentionally developed the habit of doing), he threw a small pebble near fire so it would catch his attention.

"Grood, I thought I told you to-!" A long pause sat between the two men before Zartok spoke again. "What do you want, Walker?" he growled.

"I've noticed your second-in-command has been acting rather strange."

"The socks? Yes, irritating, isn't it?"

"'Concerning' is the word I would use, personally," Saint remarked, a hint of sadness in his voice.

"How so?"

"When was the last time Grood developed an obsession over anything?"

Zartok paused, thinking for a moment. "Never, that I can remember. If he had, it would have been before I crashed here."

"What about agitated?"

"I haven't noticed any agitation from him."

"Disrespect?"

The cyclops thought earlier to when he was bombarded with socks. "A little bit...but I don't quite see what you're getting at. His attention span is relatively short. He'll get over it soon."

"I know it sounds silly, but something about these socks don't quite sit right with me..."

"That's because you're a goody-goody," he sneered.

"General, please, I urge you to look at the bigger picture," Saint's troubled face was now lacking its usual friendly smile.

"What bigger picture? It's only affected him."

"I know there haven't been any new arrivals in quite a while, but what if there _will_ be? People willing to take advantage of those who aren't in their right minds, or even those who get a hold of the socks themselves. What if it affects them, as well? Not to mention if these people were dangerous: it could strengthen their abilities, and wreak havoc on the few who stay, or will come to stay here."

"Regardless, what do you expect me to do about this issue?"

"To listen to me, and perhaps help me prevent it from getting any larger. If these socks really are dangerous, No one knows Grood better than you and Drusa do...but I take it she is unavailable, which reduces my options of whom I may ask."

There was another pause between the two, this one longer than the last. It was finally broken by Zartok's sigh. He grabbed a large fallen branch from the nearest tree, and set it aflame using the campfire, holding it as a torch. "If this will get you away from me faster, then we shall go and investigate your concerns."

Saint smiled. "Thank you, General."


End file.
